Sunday, January 30, 2005

POEM: Journey

Now I descend a ruined plank
From vessels of a gusty youth
Onto a shore of aging truth
I greet my very breath with thanks.

Dinner, not well digested,
Knotted legs like heroic pine,
Dreams fermented like ancient wine,
My Lungs and thinking congested,

I wake and dress myself with time
Which has loosened hair, mind and teeth,
Transgressions' ghosts yield relief,
And make the present wholly mine.

I find me where I ought to be,
Heart full of blood red tomorrow,
Forgetful of last night’s sorrow;
In exchange of youth I am free.

M C Biegner

0 Comments:

Post a Comment

Links to this post:

Create a Link

<< Home